


smile for the camera

by softerboys (emrifrets)



Category: McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF, Polygon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Video Game World, Ambiguous Relationships, Awful Squad, Betrayal, Blood and Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Unhealthy Relationships, shipboys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 20:50:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11813934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emrifrets/pseuds/softerboys
Summary: “… isn’t it a little fucked up? that we’re doing this?”“never said it wasn’t.”





	smile for the camera

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this back after a Certain Scene of awful squad ( https://youtu.be/R4EhPPGb3OU?t=41m45s ) and proceeded to get very invested in the series as a weirdbad real life + video game fusion
> 
> don't expect a lot, it's unfinished and mostly just ramblings i put into words  
> i don't write fic and i don't consider this a fic, i'm an artist not a writer damn it
> 
> follow me @softerboys for more polygon bullshit

nick and griffin are the last ones standing of their squad.

nick knows griffin is the betrayer, everyone knows at this point, but all nick has to his name is a single melee weapon. and nick knows he’s going to die.

griffin has him trapped on the second floor of an abandoned house and nick can’t do anything but sit and wait and griffin is pacing around him, talking aloud about all the different ways he could kill him, and nick might be impressed by griffin’s creativity if the situation were a bit different. nick thinks of his teammates’ dead bodies littering the house and wonders if they have any supplies he could use to get out of this. he wonders how griffin killed them. he wonders if he gave them the same look he’s giving nick now.

why had griffin kept nick alive? why hadn’t griffin killed him yet?

nick thinks about making a run for it, jumping out the window and suffering the fall damage - griffin hadn’t found a scope yet, so if nick hit the ground and immediately found cover, maybe he could escape.

he almost goes through with it, is clenching his muscles in preparation when a redzone ascends on the building and they both startle, bad, the tension snapping as their immediate thoughts are “holy shit we’re being _attacked_ ” and nick almost yells for griffin to get down when he pauses 

griffin is distracted, staring out the window to try and identify the explosions. silly, because it’s nothing they haven’t heard before, but nick takes the opportunity, scrambles onto his feet from his kneeling position and heads for the stairs. maybe he can lock himself in a bathroom, climb out the window when the storm subsides, find a car before the play area begins to shrink again - but griffin is too quick and gets nick in the leg with his pistol

nick collapses, shouting in pain and hugging his leg and griffin meanders over, comfortable now that he has better control of the situation, but still visibly worried.

he looms over, a wild look on his face as he watches nick’s blood pool on the floor beneath them. nick is scared, but the look griffin is giving him fills him with a familiar glee. griffin still hasn’t killed him. he didn’t treat the others this way. they didn’t matter to griffin.

“hey dude,” nick groans, shuddering when his leg twinges in pain. “that kinda hurt.”

and griffin laughs, gleeful, but steadies himself with a more serious look. disappointment? pity?

“you almost fell down the stairs, bud. coulda broken a leg! coulda _hurt_ yourself. can’t have that.” he shakes his head, clicking his tongue like a parent scolding their child.

nick scoffs, pushes himself up with his elbows. his leg hurt like hell. he dropped his knife somewhere. there was literally nothing he could do. “god forbid, i get _hurt_ , that’s not at _all_ the point of this game,” nick mocks, and griffin laughs again, _loud_ , like nick had just said the silliest thing in the world.

“if you die too quickly that’s no _fun_ , you dumb-dumb! people wanna see interesting ways to go, mysterious whodunits, drama-laden teamkills - if i off you right away, there’s no tension. no suspense.” he shrugs. “kinda boring to watch.”

“… isn’t it a little fucked up? that we’re doing this?”

“never said it wasn’t.”

nick makes a noise of comprehension. after a brief silence, he asks, “can i at least have a bandaid?” and griffin snorts.

“for your fucking gun shot wound? sorry bud, but you think that’s gonna help?"

“just trying to make conversation."

“is that how you usually pick up girls at the bar?”

nick laughs. “yeah, i stroll up and - _ow_ \- and ask them for a bandaid, and wait for them to ask, 'oh, why, what’s wrong,' and then i show them my fucking, bleeding leg, and we have a good ol’ laugh and i definitely don’t get an ambulance called on me and maybe i get to take someone home?"

“… is this your way of asking me out for drinks?" 

“griffin, can i _please_ have a bandaid.”

griffin sighs and shucks the level 3 backpack off his shoulders, sets it on the floor, and begins rummaging. nick takes this opportunity to start shimmying closer to the stairs. he grasps a step and pulls himself forward, the bullet in his leg pulsing. he can smell his own blood and wants nothing more than the redbull he left in his bag. 

“niiick,” griffin says, playfully scolding, not even glancing up from his BP. “you’re gonna fall down the stairs, dude. you’re already super low on—“ nick clears the first few steps before his body tumbles a little quicker than anticipated. “—damn it, nicolas.”

it’s not a bad fall, but he has far less control of himself the latter half of the trip down and nick scuffs his chin. it’s nothing compared to his leg, but nick’s looks were precious to him.

“you happy?” griffin chimes from the top of the steps. “do you want your fuckin bandaid now?”

nick begins crawling again, ignoring his squadmate. griffin sighs.

“you can’t go anywhere dude - it’s still a redzone. bad tv if you die from somethin that stupid.”

nick keeps crawling.

“imagine if you died from drowning! same fuckin thing! laaaaame! we gotta make this good.” griffin ascends the stairs himself. he realizes he left his backpack upstairs, but that’s fine. he doesn’t need it right now. “everyone’s watching, nick.”

“so then— fuckin— do it already so we can start another round you _ass_ —“ and nick hisses as griffin is finally there, boot putting pressure on the leg he’d shot.

the noises nick makes are … unique. they aren’t noises of pleasure, but it still feels intimate. griffin pretends he’s the only one privy to them, pretends they didn’t have an audience of over four thousand people. he grinds the boot down a little more, relishing the gasp that tears from nick’s throat.

“don’t turn this into a porno, dude!” griffin suddenly laughs, high-pitched and giddy and breathless. “are you guys hearing this?”

no one responds to him, a reminder that the rest of their crew is long-dead - but griffin knows someone out there will appreciate his commentary.

“griffin … please—“ nick gasps again before following up with a coughing fit. “you fucking—asshole—“

 

griffin giggles again

**Author's Note:**

> i'm still so fucking emo about everything that happened lol. bye


End file.
